


Better than barbiturates

by saturnina



Category: Music RPF, Pink Floyd, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Band Fic, Banter, Community: slashtheimage, Dave Is Cute, Dialogue Heavy, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Ficlet, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Insomnia, M/M, No Smut, POV Second Person, Rog Is Moody, Short & Sweet, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 01:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21419827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturnina/pseuds/saturnina
Summary: I mean to keep my back turned to you, so you will realize that this 3 in the morning conversation is not welcome, regardless of the fact that I am wide awake too.
Relationships: David Gilmour/Roger Waters
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	Better than barbiturates

**Author's Note:**

> A short oldie that I just rediscovered in my computer. It was my first attempt ever at Rog/Dave... I happen to have a soft spot for it, so I am sharing it again. Nothing shocking, just a cute slice of life filled with banter. In my mind, it happens during the days of _Live in Pompeii_.

"I can't sleep."

The proof that I can't sleep either is the fact I hear your words clearly, although they are no louder than a whisper. I let them echo in the cave of my mind, bounce back and forth between the walls of my skull, while I decide whether to reveal my own insomnia or to pretend that I am oblivious to you. You neither force me awake nor you move back to your bed. I feel your weight shift on my mattress; perhaps you know I am faking it.

"Why is that suddenly my problem?"

You sigh, and there is more annoyance than grouchiness in the sound you make. My answer probably gets at you more than your restlessness. I mean to keep my back turned to you, so you will realise that this 3 in the morning conversation is not welcome, regardless of the fact that I am wide awake too. You endure my obvious hostility with that quiet persistence that always gets you what you want.

"Didn't say t'was. I was wondering if you have any sleeping pills."

It’s my turn to sigh.

"Sorry, the Lilliputian pharmacy in my back pocket opens only at 8. Can you wait five hours?"

"I don't know what’s worse, your attitude or your jokes."

I turn around to look at you at last. My eyelids feel like sandpaper when I open them, and you look like a blurry shadow in front of me. These are the moments in which I really hate you.

"Sorry mate," I say in a tired slur. "D'ya want me to sing you a lullaby?"

Your lips curve into a smile, that beautiful smile that you use so skillfully. It pierces through ice, and despite my best efforts I am always swayed by it. These are the moments in which I love you.

I don’t wait for your answer. I prop myself on my elbows and start singing in the most dramatic mother-like voice I can muster at 3 in the morning.

"_Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop… when the wind blows, the cradle will rock—_"

"Oh Rog, shut up—!"

"_—when the bough breaks, the cradle will fall… and down will come Dave, once and for all._"

You try to protest but laughter flows out of you, leaving you breathless. I just wait until the shaking subsides, trying to keep my expression neutral whenever you dart humorous glances at me. I don’t want you to think I am doing this to amuse you, but you always know better.

"'Preciate the effort, Roger Goose, but I don’t feel any sleepier."

I throw you a wounded look.

"Don't feel bad, mate. A lot of people have no talent."

That makes me chortle. "How ungrateful Dave, I even adapted the lyrics for ya."

"Yeah, I heard that. Poetry! We oughta put that in the next album."

"A saucerful of cradle-songs?"

Now it’s both of us laughing, and I wouldn't go back to sleep even if I could. You lazily let you body slide across the bed, until you are lying on your side, your weight resting entirely on my legs. I can tell you are doing it on purpose; your eyes are alight with mischief and you cannot control the twitching of your lips.

"Practising your blank expression on me Rog, how rude of you."

"I'm not being rude. You're just insignificant."

We are both used to this endless banter, although I must say it is lacking its usual venom. You are still looking at me, completely smug, resting your weight fully on my legs. You are not a particularly light fellow—I wonder if you are attempting to cut my blood flow on purpose, and the thought escapes my mouth before I can stop it. I get a chuckle for an answer, but at least you do prop yourself up on your elbow and the tingling sensation in my legs disappears.

"So... what do we do?"

"How am I to know, Dave? Cuddle and spoon to sleep?"

"Sorry, but you're the top of my 'we reserve the right to deny cuddle' list."

"Well, then crawl back into your hole in the ground and count sheep, prat."

My words end up having a rather disappointed tone to them, which I had not intended. It embarrasses me, so I let my body fall back onto the mattress and fling my arms across my face. I cannot see you anymore, but I can _feel_ your smile, your playful crooked smile, as you move upwards on my bed and come to rest by my side. Your body now touches mine from shoulder to toe, and the warmth of your skin is strange and familiar. I have always felt it near me, but never so close.

"Roger, it was a joke—"

"I'm _well_ aware, you cocky little shit."

"Aw," you say in a mocking voice, "for a minute there I thought you were getting all tearful..."

"David, the only time I’ll cry for you is that the day I have to carry your coffin—"

"What a sweet lad!"

"—tears of _happiness_!"

I try to dislodge you off my narrow bed, but you use your (far) superior weight to pin me down. Your face is so close to mine I think you are going to kiss me, and my blood quickens. But nothing happens. You smile and just drape your body across mine, burying your face in my neck.

"Your sense of humour... 's better than barbiturates."

I try to come up with a clever one-liner, but the minutes tick by and I lose my momentum. My blood is still rushing through my veins as your breathing slows and evens out, and I feel your muscles relax against my tense form. There is the vibration of a distant-yet-close drum against my ribcage, and it takes me just a second to realise that it's your heart lulling me to sleep.

~the end~

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Nothing in this fanfic is true and I do not claim that the people mentioned in it are like this in real life. No disrespect is intended.


End file.
